“Pass On” by Michael Lee

When searching for the lost remember 8 things.

1.
We are vessels. We are circuit boards
swallowing the electricity of life upon birth.
It wheels through us creating every moment,
the pulse of a story, the soft hums of labor and love.
In our last moment it will come rushing
from our chests and be given back to the wind.
When we die. We go everywhere.

2.
Newton said energy is neither created nor destroyed.
In the halls of my middle school I can still hear
my friend Stephen singing his favorite song.
In the gymnasium I can still hear
the way he dribbled that basketball like it was a mallet
and the earth was a xylophone.
With an ear to the Atlantic I can hear
the Titanic’s band playing her to sleep,
Music. Wind. Music. Wind.

3.
The day my grandfather passed away there was the strongest wind,
I could feel his gentle hands blowing away from me.
I knew then they were off to find someone
who needed them more than I did.
On average 1.8 people on earth die every second.
There is always a gust of wind somewhere.

4.
The day Stephen was murdered
everything that made us love him rushed from his knife wounds
as though his chest were an auditorium
his life an audience leaving single file.
Every ounce of him has been
wrapping around this world in a windstorm
I have been looking for him for 9 years.

5.
Our bodies are nothing more than hosts to a collection of brilliant things.
When someone dies I do not weep over polaroids or belongings,
I begin to look for the lightning that has left them,
I feel out the strongest breeze and take off running.

6.
After 9 years I found Stephen.
I passed a basketball court in Boston
the point guard dribbled like he had a stadium roaring in his palms
Wilt Chamberlain pumping in his feet,
his hands flashing like x-rays,
a cross-over, a wrap-around
rewinding, turn-tables cracking open,
camera-men turn flash bulbs to fireworks.
Seven games and he never missed a shot,
his hands were luminous.
Pulsing. Pulsing.
I asked him how long he’d been playing,
he said nine 9 years

7.
The theory of six degrees of separation
was never meant to show how many people we can find,
it was a set of directions for how to find the people we have lost.

I found your voice Stephen,
found it in a young boy in Michigan who was always singing,
his lungs flapping like sails
I found your smile in Australia,
a young girl’s teeth shining like the opera house in your neck,
I saw your one true love come to life on the asphalt of Boston.

8.
We are not created or destroyed,
we are constantly transferred, shifted and renewed.
Everything we are is given to us.
Death does not come when a body is too exhausted to live
Death comes, because the brilliance inside us can only be contained for so long.
We do not die. We pass on, pass on the lightning burning through our throats.
when you leave me I will not cry for you
I will run into the strongest wind I can find
and welcome you home.

Michael Lee, “Pass On”

“Static Electricity” by Neil Hilborn

In second grade we did an experiment with static electricity,
We rubbed balloons on our heads
And stuck them to walls.
And kissing you is kinda like that.
My hair stands on end,
I get shocked when I touch things
And I want to tell you stupid stuff like
Kissing you is a bundle of kittens
Colliding with my face at .5 miles an hour
It’s like being shot with a dart gun made of hummingbirds
That shoots darts made of hummingbirds
And your lips are so soft I can’t actually tell when we are touching
Like braiding hair underwater
Like napping under a blanket filled with rainbows and clouds
And your favorite books
When you kiss me the cartoon devil and angel on my shoulder
Climb into my ears
Lick all of my neurons
And start fucking on my brainstem
If you were a 300 pound professional weight lifter
And I were a Kia Sorento
You could drag me anywhere
Kissing you is patient and impossibly slow
Like peeling paint off the wall with glittery stickers
Or cooking a turkey with a lighter
You remind me of the time in second grade
When Bethany Hopkirk
Called me a freak face and stabbed me in the arm with a pencil
Cause Kissing you is kinda like that
Unhealthy and will probably result in disfigurement
But baby, bring on the facial scars and lead poisoning
Cause when you kiss me you are dangling me off a bridge by a belt
You are the screen door of my childhood
All taste and swinging
So full of holes you could never keep anything in
You are every black eye
You’re a semitruck and I’m a turtle with two broken legs
And a broken heart
You are illegal fireworks falling down stairs together
Driving on four flat tires
Playing Frisbee at night with a saw blade
Kissing you is like falling out of a 37 story window
Exploding into a cloud of robins and reappearing on the ground with my mouth full of feathers
And when I can’t kiss you
I try to find the static electricity in my apartment
I dig around in light sockets
Change lightbulbs with my teeth
And make out with the toaster
And I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple weeks
But baby when you kiss me
I can’t remember my middle name
Or which one is my left foot.
So come over tonight
We’ll shuffle around the apartment in our socks
And we’ll let our lips drift toward each other
Like tectonic plates made…
Out of kittens.

Neil Hilborn, (facebook) (twitter @Neilicorn); video via Button Poetry.

“What Teachers Make” by Taylor Mali

He says the problem with teachers is What’s a kid going to learn from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher? He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true what they say about teachers: Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach. I decide to bite my tongue instead of his and resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests that it’s also true what they say about lawyers. Because we’re eating, after all, and this is polite conversation. I mean, you’re a teacher, Taylor. Be honest. What do you make? And I wish he hadn’t done that— asked me to be honest— because, you see, I have this policy about honesty and ass-¬‐kicking: if you ask for it, then I have to let you have it. You want to know what I make? I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could. I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional Medal of Honor and an A-¬‐ feel like a slap in the face. How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best. I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups. No, you may not ask a question. Why won’t I let you go to the bathroom? Because you’re bored. And you don’t really have to go to the bathroom, do you? I make parents tremble in fear when I call home: Hi. This is Mr. Mali. I hope I haven’t called at a bad time, I just wanted to talk to you about something your son said today. To the biggest bully in the grade, he said, “Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don’t you? It’s no big deal.” And that was noblest act of courage I have ever seen. I make parents see their children for who they are and what they can be. You want to know what I make? I make kids wonder, I make them question. I make them criticize. I make them apologize and mean it. I make them write. I make them read, read, read. I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful over and over and over again until they will never misspell either one of those words again. I make them show all their work in math and hide it on their final drafts in English. I make them understand that if you’ve got this, then you follow this, and if someone ever tries to judge you by what you make, you give them this. Here, let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true: Teachers make a goddamn difference! Now what about you?

~Taylor Mali “What Teachers Make.” What Learning Leaves

“To This Day” by Shane Koyczan

 

“because there’s something inside you
that made you keep trying
despite everyone who told you to quit
you built a cast around your broken heart
and signed it yourself
you signed it
“they were wrong”
because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click
maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything
maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth
to show and tell but never told
because how can you hold your ground
if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it
you have to believe that they were wrong”

To This Day Project – Shane Koyczan

“We Were Emergencies” by Buddy Wakefield

We Were Emergencies

We can stick anything into the fog
and make it look like a ghost
but tonight
let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows,
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.

Tonight
let’s turn our silly wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts.
Move forward
and repeat after me with your heart:

“I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hated myself.”

Make love to me
like you know I am better
than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this.
But I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop
without jumping.
I have realized

that the moon
did not have to be full for us to love it,
that we are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it,
that if my heart
really broke
every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now.

But hearts don’t break,
y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m having a fantastic time.

 

~ Buddy Wakefield, Gentleman Practice

 

this will give you chills – cw